


Winding Paths

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Prince Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: The screams were enough to remind Derek why he tried to stay so far away from the labyrinth.He took a deep breath, releasing it as he forced himself into the labyrinth.~*~Or, the one where Derek is Ariadne, and Stiles is Dionysus, and the minotaur in the labyrinth is not what you've been lead to believe.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 37
Kudos: 305
Collections: Written In The Stars





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a retelling of the Theseus and the Minotaur myth. I'm telling the version that often does not get told, about how Theseus left Ariadne on Naxos, and kidnapped her sister. Dionysus later finds Ariadne on Naxos and falls in love with her, marrying her and bringing her to Olympus to make her a goddess.
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek never enjoyed the celebrations. He knew what awaited the sacrifices within the labyrinth once the feast was concluded. He hated every moment of the lavish parties his mother would host—he did not see a reason to celebrate the festivities.

Derek's sister was dead, and to honor her death, their mother demanded a sacrifice from more than just those that took Laura's life.

All of Athens would pay for what happened to Laura.

But nothing would bring back Laura.

During one of the last Panathenaic Games, when Laura arrived in Athens to compete on behalf of Crete, there had been doubts—most had expected Derek to compete instead. But when the games finally arrived, Derek was nowhere to be seen, Laura becoming the center of too much gossip. Some speculated that Derek had fallen ill—or that Talia forbade both of them competing.

The truth was much simpler: Derek chose not to compete.

That would cause even more scandal and upheaval if people knew.

Gerard, King of Athens, had vainly boasted about his children winning in previous years, and mocked Laura for her unassuming stature.

The gods favored Laura during the games though, gracing her with the skills to take all the prizes, and claim them on behalf of Crete.

Derek never believed that it was an accident that killed Laura on the road to Thebes as she traveled her way home. He had seen the pride the Argents obsessed over—a pride that he knew they would kill for.

And Laura had slighted them with her win, insulting that pride.

When news of Laura’s death reached Crete, Talia did not even wait for the grieving period to end. She went to war with Athens, and easily won. Her price for her daughter’s life was hefty, and outweighed the crime.

Fourteen children, seven young men and seven maidens.

Every year, they were to be drawn by lots. Those chosen would be sent on a ship across the seas to Crete, completely unarmed and unprepared for the horrors that awaited them in the labyrinth.

The minotaur would either eat them, or they would starve. All would perish inside the walls of the labyrinth—lost in the maze to be forgotten by the world.

This was why Derek hated the parties. He hated how twisted his mother had become with every passing celebration. It was why he took the names of the fourteen young people—to give them each a prayer that night, and hope the gods would be kinder than his mother.

Derek had only managed to find twelve of them tonight, and his mother was furious with that detail.

“They’ve finally grown bold enough to insult me,” Talia concluded as she drank from her goblet.

“I could have missed them,” Derek offered as he went over the names on his list. He frowned at them, having recalled their faces. He always saw their faces in his nightmares, when he would dream of the regret he had for not being able to save them.

“Well, check again if you’re so sure of your failure,” Talia snapped.

Derek refused to look at his mother. He wondered when she had truly changed, thinking that maybe he had ignored the signs and saw what he wanted to see. He loved his family, but knew his mother had started to spiral into a maddened stupor even before Laura left for the games.

After Peter was confined to the labyrinth.

“I’ll check again,” Derek sighed, descending the steps from his mother’s throne, moving back into the crowded party. He ignored the drunken debauchery that began to unravel, removing the wayward hands of too many potential lovers as they caressed his shoulders and chest.

Derek scanned the crowd for someone out of the ordinary, curious if he could find the remaining two Athenians. He had spotted his fair share of them, even finding the ones who had hid the entire party in the pantry.

The sacrifices had to seem as if they were willing, or the gods could take pity and put an end to the celebrations.

Pity was not something the gods did.

Derek was surprised when he bumped into someone. He turned to look at the person, frowning slightly when the person stared blankly at him.

“Marvelous,” the young man mumbled as he looked around them, looking back at Derek.

“Are you here for the celebrations?” Derek asked as he tried to gain the young man’s attention. He grew frustrated when the young man continued to look around them.

“In a way,” the young man stated, finally looking at Derek when their conversation died. “I came to  _ see _ the celebrations.”

“You’re not Cretan then,” Derek concluded, looking at the young man for more detail.

“I’m not,” the young man replied, the curve of his soft smile hiding a deeper meaning to his answer.

“You’re here as one of the chosen, then?” Derek pressed.

“I was chosen,” the young man offered in an uncertain tone, glancing at Derek. “But why would you care?”

“I’m responsible for the labyrinth,” Derek honestly replied. “This is all meant as justice for my sister’s death. My mother found it fitting that I oversee it.” He frowned at his own words, his brow furrowing as he remembered the day his mother changed.

Things were never the same after the games, though nothing was normal even before.

“Well, if you’re one of the fourteen,” Derek began, trying to change the subject. “Then what is your name?” He turned towards the wax tablet, stylus in hand as he prepared to add the man’s name to the list.

“You take the names of the sacrificial victims,” the young man stated in interest rather than question.

Derek paused his stylus from touching the wax as he turned away from the tablet. “As I do every year,” he offered, unsure who this man was to be questioning him.

“To inform their families of their fates?” The young man asked as he drank more from his goblet.

“To say a prayer for them, actually,” Derek explained.

The young man seemed unsurprised by Derek’s honesty.

“To commemorate what happened to them, so their fates are not forgotten,” Derek concluded. “It also serves as a list for my mother,” he reluctantly added. “For her to know that fourteen were sent.”

“This is  _ fascinating _ ,” the young man honestly answered, a smile on his lips as he drank more. “Such petty creatures.”

Derek’s expression hardened. “Fourteen men and women will die after this festival moon passes,” he harshly stated. “It is important to remember them.”

“And what are we remembering them for?” The young man challenged. He faintly smirked when Derek did not answer him. He gestured to the drunken crowd with his goblet in hand. “We are gathered here to celebrate the sacrificial deaths of fourteen young people, because one woman’s daughter was killed by an arrogant man.”

Derek stared at the young man, shocked at his boldness in challenging Talia’s logic. “My mother is grieving,” he finally stated.

“Grieving is something you do without harming others,” the young man replied. He looked at the wax tablet Derek was holding, a smile pulling at his lips. “My name is Stiles, by the way.”

Derek frowned. “Stiles,” he curiously repeated.

“Like a stylus,” Stiles offered as he gestured towards the stylus in Derek’s hand.

Derek was confused by Stiles.

Stiles took a step closer, hovering his lips by Derek’s ear. “I would be wary of the princess,” he softly spoke.

Derek pulled away from Stiles some. “The princess?” He questioned in uncertainty, unsure what Stiles’ maddening words meant. He thought about Cora, how he had tucked his sister away in her room for the night in hopes she’d remain unaware for another year.

“Nothing good comes from the web that a spider spins through a maze,” Stiles warned. “She’s not who she says she is.”

Derek startled when he heard a loud crash from somewhere behind him. He looked at the commotion, seeing that the people drunkenly falling down were a few of the older, wealthier citizens who supported his mother’s celebrations. He turned back to Stiles, wishing to know more about what he meant, only to find himself alone. He released a soft sigh, looking down at his list. He fondly traced Stiles’ name with the stylus, a strange guilt churned in his stomach as he thought of Stiles dying in the labyrinth.

He had another name to find.

~*~

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice called out to Derek.

Derek turned to look at the woman, his breath catching for a moment.

A blonde woman, more mature than the other Athenian maidens in attendance, reached her hand out to touch Derek’s arm. Her eyes were a pale hazel, bathed in the soft glow of the burning braziers. “You’re taking the names of the Athenians,” she stated as if she already knew what Derek’s answer would be.

Derek hesitated before nodding.

The blonde smiled. “I think I’m your last name,” she stated in a coy manner as she looked down at the list of names on Derek’s tablet.

Derek pulled away from the woman some, unsure what her goal was. This felt different than Stiles’ approach—less natural, almost forced.

“My name is Katherine,” the blonde finally stated. She watched as Derek wrote her name down on the list, completing the tally of fourteen. “You must be Prince Derek.”

Derek froze, hesitating before he forced himself to look up at Katherine. “Why do you say that?”

Katherine frowned some. “I’ve heard the prince takes the names of those meant to die.”

Derek tightened his hold on the frame of the wax tablet, staring down at the names. How many lists did he transfer onto parchment for his mother to keep? How many people did he hear scream, plead for mercy his mother would not allow them?

And the blame rested on his shoulders like heavy weights.

“Word reached Athens that one of the royal family has a heart,” Katherine pressed on. She guided Derek to sit on the soft cushions beside her, a placating gesture to Derek’s nerves. “They said you had a compassion your mother did not,” she replied, placing her hand on Derek’s arm once more. “I was told you might help,” she added.

Derek nervously looked around them, knowing that his mother’s guards were everywhere. He was almost never alone. Even with her disdain for Laura dying instead, Talia still kept a watchful eye on the children she had left. “I’m not sure who said that,” he promptly answered her when she pressed against his shoulder.

“I volunteered to come,” Katherine explained. “I’m hoping I can lead the others out of the labyrinth—away from the beast.”

Derek knew they were speaking treason, but it felt more natural than bowing to his mother. “The minotaur knows the labyrinth well,” he answered, his gaze flickering over to look at those in attendance. He saw the somber faces of the Athenians compared to the Cretans revelling in the festivities and it turned his stomach in disgust.

“But you know it,” Katherine softly uttered, her body pressing against Derek’s in a gentle yet prodding manner.

It felt weird to have another’s body against his without a clear intent.

“You’re responsible for the labyrinth, aren’t you?”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “Did Stiles tell you that?” He was perplexed by what was happening, knowing he didn’t explain to many of the Athenians why he was taking their names.

“Yes, he did,” Katherine stated, her gaze flickering to look around the room. “That you speak to us—get to know our names for when we die.”

Derek frowned. “You could survive,” he weakly countered, knowing it was unlikely.

“That’s why I like you,” Katherine stated as she brushed her smooth leg against Derek’s. She was wearing similar robes to the other Athenians—ceremonial in nature and little to indicate what type of life they left behind.

But Katherine appeared to hold an air about her that suggested a higher living. Her hair was kept, nothing artificial about it. Her skin was smooth, smelling of lavender and honey milk—a luxury those born lower were ignorant of. Her hands weren’t calloused by hard labor, but practiced trade.

Derek looked down at Katherine’s leg sliding against his own. He knew a seduction when he saw it, let alone when he was on the receiving end. He had no lust in his gut, no desire to have her in his bed. But he wanted to help her, regardless of whatever she was about to offer him in return.

“You could save us,” Katherine explained.

Derek started to shake his head furiously.

“You could—if anyone was going to, it would be you.”

“I can’t,” he quickly pulled out of Katherine’s grip. He couldn’t—his mother would know, and more would die. He thought of his uncle—of the beast hidden in the depths of the labyrinth.

The gods would never forgive Derek’s betrayal of his family.

“Then it is for show,” Katherine faintly uttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “You fake piety then,” she accused Derek.

Derek opened his mouth to argue.

“You fake caring for us,” Katherine continued, gesturing about her.

Derek could pick out the faces in the crowd—he could place the names. He cared more than the Athenian King who sent his own people to die.

“I take the names to pray for you,” Derek finally found his voice.

“Pray for us,” Katherine bitterly uttered, standing with aggression. “Fuck your prayer, it does nothing to spare us.” She fixed her robes as she turned with a flurry. “May your guilt haunt your prayers,” she finally cursed Derek before leaving him.

~*~

Derek couldn’t sleep, his prayers falling on the ears he knew wouldn’t answer. He paced along the balcony of his bedroom, his gaze looking out to the water before settling on the docks. He could see the ships docked there, only a matter of time before another Athenian vessel joined his mother’s possessions. He pulled himself away from the balcony, leaving his room behind as he tried to get his thoughts in place. He felt sick when he thought of what Katherine said, knowing he’d never be able to make anyone understand that his prayers were always heavily weighed down by his guilt. He did not look at the guards as he entered his sister’s rooms, silently closing the doors behind him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Stiles’ warning.

Cora was barely two when Laura died. Now she had celebrated her ninth name day, still unaware of the horrors that happened in the labyrinth. She would try to sneak into the parties, growing curious when Derek wouldn’t even answer her simplest of questions. Each time she had been escorted out by their mother’s guards.

Derek hoped Cora wouldn’t ask their mother to explain the celebrations, wishing to keep his sister shielded from the pain their mother brought to the world around them. Cora would never know Laura, but he hoped he could keep Laura’s memory untainted for her.

Derek halted when he saw that Cora’s bed was empty, shaking his head out of fondness. He knew she must have been awake, this night in particular.

Cora peaked around her bed, catching sight of Derek. She climbed up off the floor as she looked at Derek, hiding the scroll she had behind her back.

Derek pretended that he didn’t see the scroll, moving to sit by the loom Talia had moved into Cora’s room to force practice at even the oddest of hours. He inspected the strings hanging from the loom, watching as the weights dangled on the ends. He sat in front of the loom, curious if he could still manage a simple weave from the memory of lessons Laura used to make him endure.

“She says when I finish it, I’ll be ready to marry,” Cora explained when she realized Derek was inspecting the length of the tapestry she was meant to be completing.

“You’ve been unweaving your progress at night,” Derek simply stated, knowing he had seen the tapestry at a more complete stage than it was in now.

Cora looked down at her feet. “I broke the string last time I did it—had to start anew so she wouldn’t be able to tell,” she admitted. “I don’t want to be married, Derek,” she weakly added.

Derek looked at Cora. “What if we could leave?”

Cora’s head shot up in surprise, staring at Derek with wonderment. She didn’t know how serious he could be about such an impossible thing. “We live on an island,” she reluctantly stated. “We’d need a boat,” she started, moving over to Derek. She wrapped her arms around Derek’s neck, hugging him from behind as she stood on her tiptoes to not choke him. “And mother owns all the ships,” she dejectedly sighed, her chin pressing into Derek’s shoulder.

“The Athenian ship is still in the dock,” Derek quietly explained. “It’s small enough that it could outsail her ships.” His fingernails caught on the string of the loom as he thought of the risk—but he also knew Cora’s rouse couldn’t fool their mother forever.

“We can’t sail a ship by ourselves,” Cora reasoned as she laid her head on Derek’s shoulder, looking at his profile.

“The Athenians might help us,” Derek replied, keeping his eyes on the loom strings.

Cora pulled back, quizzically looking at Derek. “They never leave the labyrinth,” she replied. She wasn’t surprised when Derek pulled away from her. “What are you planning?” She pressed, keeping her voice calm and low, determined to not be overheard by any guards monitoring the hallways.

“One of them wanted help escaping the labyrinth,” Derek explained as he paced some. He caught sight of the scroll Cora had tried to hide when he entered the room, seeing that it was a hymn of some sort. Part of him wondered where Cora could have gotten such a thing.

After Laura’s death, their mother purged the palace library of all scrolls dedicated to the gods. Another angry message to ignore from another mortal.

“They’ll kill Peter then, won’t they?” Cora weakly asked.

Derek didn’t look at Cora as he shook his head. “Just a way out,” he firmly stated. Maybe he wanted to convince himself that it wouldn’t result in their uncle’s death.

Even if their uncle was cursed to be a monster by the gods, he was still their family. The very thought of being responsible for Peter’s death made Derek’s blood run cold with guilt.

A curse already hung over their house—the spilt blood of family would only deepen the wounds.

“Here, then,” Cora started as she passed Derek, ducking by her bed to reach a hand beneath it. She plopped on the ground, settling in her lap the box she produced from under her bed. She removed the cover with ease, snatching up the ball of string that was snuggly placed in the corner. “If you leave this for them, they can use it to find their way back to the entrance.” Her head turned briefly to look at Derek as he knelt beside her, realizing that Derek was looking at the items in the box instead of the string. “Mother doesn’t like me having these,” she explained as she gave the box a gentle shake, her trinkets making soft noises to announce themselves. “I think she knows and is waiting for my wedding day to take them away.”

Derek peered into the box to look at Cora’s hidden gems.

A faded mosaic portrait inlaid in a metal circle held the likeness of their father. Derek could tell it was the best likeness they would get, knowing the statue in the agora did their father no justice. He noticed the small braid of hair as the one he had taken from Laura’s corpse, tying the ends with ribbon and gifting it to Cora when she was old enough to understand its importance. He picked up one of the small carvings he saw.

The marble fit in the palm of his hand as he tilted the small object to roll around. He realized it was a small statue of a god.

“That’s from my friend,” Cora proudly stated as she looked at the small carving in Derek’s hand.

Derek looked at Cora in surprise. “Your friend?”

Cora nodded, smiling up at Derek. “He’s wonderful—he’s the one who gave me the hymn,” she stated with excitement as she jumped up to grab the scroll off her bed. She showed it to Derek. “He said it's about his mother,” she continued.

Derek looked from the carving to the scroll. “Cora … who is your friend?” He asked, uncertain it was the correct question to ask in that moment. He felt an uneasiness in his stomach, wondering when his sister could have been visited by such a person.

“Dionysus,” Cora stated. “He walks through walls, Derek. He can speak with animals. Oh! He also showed me how to unweave the loom. He’s the one who suggested it when I told him about mother’s plan.”

Derek stared at Cora.

Cora’s joy started to melt from her face, her brow furrowing. “You don’t believe me,” she stated with a huff. “He said you wouldn’t—not without seeing him.”

Derek quickly shook his head. He knew Cora would withhold the string if he spoke cruelly of her stories. And they were just stories, Derek decided. He could help her overcome those childish ideations once they were long gone from Crete. “No, of course I do. I’m just marveled that a god chose to reveal himself to you,” he offered. “Maybe a bit jealous even.”

Cora narrowed her eyes for a second. “He’s real,” she pressed.

Derek nodded. “Perhaps you can introduce us.”

Cora hesitated before placing the ball of string in her brother’s hand. “I will,” she stated with determination.

Derek heard the guards changing patrols, swiftly standing as he placed the hymn into Cora’s box.

“Keep it,” Cora instructed Derek about the carving in his hand. “It’s good luck,” she explained as she shoved the box back under the bed.

Derek slipped the ball of string between his robes, hiding it in the curve of his sleeve. He was confident it would be safely hidden until he could meet the Athenians in the cells. He lifted Cora up into the bed, tucking her beneath her blankets. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning close enough for Cora to hear his whispering, “I’ll speak with the Athenians, broker a deal.”

Cora nodded, her chin tucked up against the fur blanket she used on colder nights. She stared up at Derek, trusting his plan would work.

“I’ll come and get you as soon as they enter the labyrinth, and then we’ll head down to the docks together.” Derek brushed a strand of Cora’s hair behind her ear. Even if he couldn’t get them to agree for him to join them, he had to try for Cora.

Derek had to believe it would work. It was their only chance for escape.

~*~

Something was wrong.

Derek wasn’t sure why he entered the labyrinth. The screams he heard were different this time—more animalistic in nature. He ignored the guards that fled the gate, his own hands shaking with nerves as he twisted the key in the iron lock. He was able to get the key from his mother’s general, waiting for the man to be too intoxicated with wine and lust to even realize his key was missing.

Derek had hoped he could have spoken with the Athenians longer, realizing that he didn’t fully trust Katherine’s promise to lead her people back out without reaching the center of the labyrinth.

The screams were enough to remind Derek why he tried to stay so far away from the labyrinth.

Derek lurched forward, his hands trembling once he undid the gate’s lock. He slid the bars out of place, pushing the gate open with little difficulty. He had seen so many do it before, he was convinced that he wasn’t himself in this moment. He thought of Cora, motivating his steps forward. He took a deep breath, releasing it as he forced himself into the labyrinth.

The labyrinth had been designed well before Peter had been born. It was a form of entertainment for guests of the palace. Derek remembered chasing Laura through the winding paths, tripping more than once as he got turned around. He had spent the better part of a day lost in the labyrinth once.

Peter had been the one to find him.

Derek had fallen asleep after crying for hours, barely waking when Peter lifted him up. He quietly pressed into Peter’s shoulder to hide himself from the shame he felt building in his chest.

“You count your turns by threes,” Peter’s calm voice offered, keeping his gaze forward as he carried Derek out of the labyrinth’s winding paths. “One could get lost in here otherwise.”

Derek’s pace picked up as he recalled the memory, his legs rushing him forward. His chest felt tight, worry constricting his chest as he started to run, counting each turn he took. He thought of the last time he saw Peter—the last time he heard his uncle’s voice and not roars of terror.

The gods had cursed the Hales, and no one spoke the truth of it—no one knew the truth of it, except Derek.

Derek was as young as Cora when he mastered the labyrinth’s winding paths. He wanted to tell Peter, eager to show him that he could manage it now. Childish curiosity slowly slipped away as he grew uncertain with fear when he stumbled upon what was happening in Peter’s rooms.

Derek felt a similar fear take hold of him once again when he ran by a group of fleeing Athenians, foolishly forgetting to count them. He hoped the palace guards had stayed gone, knowing they would attack anyone fleeing the labyrinth.

Guilt fell like a lead weight in his stomach when he saw Katherine running towards him—she was covered in blood, a sword in her hand. He had been so uncertain with naive hope for a chance to change their future—he was wrong to ignore his gut feeling that not all would end well.

Katherine’s hand around Derek’s bicep was tight, unrelenting in its grip as Derek was pulled in tow.

Derek’s feet stumbled as he was swayed to follow after Katherine, seeing a glimpse of the labyrinth’s center. He had seen a body, mangled and covered in blood. He had assumed it was his uncle. More rushing Athenians blocked his view to look back, but he was certain he saw someone kneeling beside the slain body.

He thought he saw Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags to include the warning of implied incest; this tag does not relate to Derek or Stiles directly. It is spoken of but there is no visual description. If you want to know what is it before moving forward, please jump to the end note for more.

The legends twisted the origin of the Minotaur.

Some said the former Queen had been charmed to be infatuated with a bull, baring its offspring. Others remarked that it was only a costumed man with the helmet of a bull.

Both held fractures of truth.

The Minotaur was a prince, but not the son of a bull.

Peter had been disfigured by one of Zeus’ lightning bolts, face split in two. The gods were cruel, gifting Peter a crown on horns, twisted and jagged pieces of exposed skull. Skin burned and scarred from the ordeal, while his mind shattered into nothing resembling a man.

And Talia refused to kill him.

Derek knew why, though he never breathed life into it for fear of the gods retribution. But he knew what he had seen after he had grown up, finally understanding how two bodies fit together. It should have been easy to understand, given how Peter reacted when he realized Derek was standing there in the doorway.

The two people pulled away from each other, as if they had been burned by Hephaestus’ flame. Peter grabbed Derek by the arm, gentle but firm as he steered the young boy out into the hallway.

_ I’ll handle it _ , Peter had said out loud as he escorted Derek back to his room.

_ I made it through the labyrinth,  _ Derek weakly uttered when they reached his bedroom. He looked up as his uncle started to kneel in front of him.

_ That’s good _ , Peter stated with a smile, though it did not reach his eyes.  _ But I need you to do something else. I need you to forget what you saw _ .

Derek’s eyes welled up with tears.  _ I didn’t mean to see _ .

_ I know, _ Peter gently spoke, brushing Derek’s tears away with a gentle sweep of his knuckle.  _ That wasn’t something you were supposed to see. No one is supposed to see that. They wouldn’t understand _ .

Derek drew in an unsteady breath, his lip wobbling some as he nodded. He wanted to forget it—to not know something no one was to ever witness. He wished to forget, for the gods to redeem his family. It didn’t matter how much he prayed, he would always know what he saw that night.

He had seen his mother with Peter—being held in his uncle’s arms as only a lover should be.

~*~

Derek draped his cloak around Cora, his hands encasing Cora’s shoulders as he hugged her against his side.

Cora curled into Derek, accepting his warmth. “She killed Peter, didn’t she?” She simply asked, an anger hidden in her voice as she watched Katherine celebrating with the other Athenians.

Derek was silent as he looked at the Athenian’s ship.

“There are only thirteen—what happened to one of them?” Cora asked.

“I don’t know,” Derek lied. He had asked when they reached the dock, his steps slowing as he watched the others climb onto the ship. Katherine had said one of the Athenians died when they reached port, even before the celebration, confusing Derek even more.

“I don’t trust them,” Cora softly spoke. “It’s been days, and they haven’t told us the plan. We can’t know what will happen when we reach Athens.”

Derek knew Cora had a point. He looked up at the sky, thinking how it was the first and only time he had ever left their island. “We’ll figure something out,” he explained, looking at Cora. “I’ll take care of you,” he added.

Cora smiled as she looked up at Derek. “I’ll take care of you,” she corrected him.

Derek faintly chuckled out of fondness. “Get some sleep. The final stretch is ahead of us.”

Cora grimaced as she thought about being back on the ship. She had gotten sick, unused to the sway of the sea’s waves as she stumbled back and forth on deck. She had been so relieved to see land this night.

Derek remained a watchful eye as Cora laid out on the sandy grass they had chosen for a bed. His eyes flickered over to the others laughing and drinking around the fire. He was mad when he first discovered they had enough wits about them to steal drinks but not food. It was foolish to think he could rely on anyone—he had to be the one to keep Cora safe, knowing they would not be afforded a second escape if caught.

“Do you think mother will find us?” Cora softly asked, her voice small and uncertain of what Derek’s response would be.

Derek knew it was a possibility. He had studied the royal maps constantly before Laura left the island, finding a calm in knowing the islands by heart. He had been certain he’d never know what any of them looked like. And now they were seeking a moment’s refuge on an island far away from their home.

“Did you not know that we’re on your friend’s island?” Derek asked as he turned his head to look at Cora. He knew the island they sat upon was Naxos, an island favored by Dionysus.

Cora was laying on her side, looking over her shoulder at Derek. “Dionysus?”

Derek nodded. “This is Naxos,” he explained. “They say no one inhabits this island because Dionysus claimed it for his own amusements.”

Cora snorted. “Shouldn’t we not be here then?”

Derek shook his head. “Surely if anyone is welcome here, it would be us.”

Cora laid back down, releasing a heavy breath. “Then maybe we should stay here, where we’d be safe.”

Derek frowned some. “We could come back,” he offered. “Once we figure out a path, we could always come back,” he stated more to himself than Cora. He had to convince himself that it was possible for them to escape their blood and carve out their own fate.

Cora was silent, leaving Derek to assume she had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

Derek laid down beside Cora, looking up at the sky as he tried to forget about what happened in the labyrinth. He had been fearful the gods would punish him for what once was his prayers. For so many nights he had wished to be free of his family curse, and now he and Cora were free to live normal lives. He fell asleep as he stared up at the constellations above, curious about all the new ones they would see in their travels. He wanted to make sure Cora had that chance, to live a life unhindered by their birthright.

~*~

Cora’s scream woke Derek up, just as the sun started to rise.

Derek tore himself awake, scrambling to his feet before he even realized what was happening.

“Derek!” Cora screamed as she wildly thrashed her limbs. She punched and bit at the Athenians who were attempting to carry her onto the ship. “Let me go!”

Derek ran toward them, determined to save Cora from their grasp. He fell to the ground when a heavy weight collided with the back of his head. A blinding light took over before his vision started to darken some. He dug his hands into the sand as he struggled to stand up. He staggered, swaying off balance when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side.

It was Katherine, that much Derek could make out from her silhouette as his vision teetered on coming back.

“Don’t fight this,” Katherine instructed Derek. “We’re letting you live—that should be enough for you.”

“Let go of my sister,” Derek demanded through gritted teeth. He startled forward when he heard Cora’s muffled screams. He could see her thrashing against a few of the Athenians.

“We don’t need you both,” Katherine remarked.

“I won’t let you get away,” Derek started, attempting to pull out of Katherine’s grip. He lurched forward when a sharp pain pierced through his abdomen, his hand instinctively reaching for the spot. He grabbed a hold of the knife handle protruding from beside his navel.

Katherine breathed out a sigh of annoyance as she kept Derek from falling over. She tightened her hold on the knife handle when Derek tried to get a steady grasp on it. She turned to look at the others, pleased to see that they had the young princess under control.

“Derek,” Cora sobbed while struggling against the restraints the Athenians put her in.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Katherine gently explained to Derek as she looked at him. “You helped us kill the creature in the labyrinth, and it would be unforgivable in the eyes of the gods if I killed you for it.”

“Maiming me, and leaving me for dead is just as unforgivable,” Derek struggled to say, his hands shaking as the pain began to crest.

Katherine scoffed out a laugh. “What your family has done is unforgivable. Your mother ordered my people killed because your bitch of a sister was a cheat and got what she deserved.”

_ Be wary of the princess _ , Stiles had said.  _ Nothing good comes from the web that a spider spins through a maze. _

In Derek’s naivety, he accepted help from the one person he had been warned against. “You’re … ” He drew in a heavy breath, wincing at the pain it caused. “You killed my sister for no reason.”

Katherine’s expression was blank as she searched Derek’s face. “No reason?” She incredulously asked, looking at Derek as if he had lost what little sense he had. She leaned forward to speak in Derek’s ear. Her voice was no louder than a whisper, a grating noise of disgust cutting through her tone as she spoke, “I know what your mother and uncle did together. Everyone knows your mother enjoyed fucking her own brother, and filling the palace with little monstrosities.”

Derek flinched at Katherine’s words.

“It felt like justice when I caved in your sister’s skull, bringing a rotten bloodline to heel.” Katherine pulled back to look at Derek. “And maybe now, I’m saving your little sister from you.”

Derek pivoted his weight for better footing on the sand, grabbing Katherine’s hand in an attempt to keep the knife from moving. Anger twisted Derek’s gut at Katherine’s suggestion. “How dare you—” Derek’s words died on his tongue when Katherine twisted the blade to the side, cutting deeper than before despite Derek’s attempts to stop her.

“Your family is disgusting,” Katherine replied with a sick smile. “And even if I don’t think you’d do something like that to your sister, I can make the world think otherwise.”

Derek was trembling as the pain grew, his limbs were eerily cold as each second ticked by. He could feel the blood trickling out of his stomach, staining his robes. “Let her go,” he weakly pleaded.

“She’ll be safe,” Katherine replied. “Now if you don’t want your baby sister to see you disemboweled, I’d suggest you stop struggling.”

Derek looked up at Katherine, trying to understand her motivations. He could admit to himself—he knew Katherine meant to kill him. He let go of his grip on the knife, his body sinking some as the fight started to leave him. He didn’t know why he gave in. Maybe he still believed in the gods, or that his prayers meant something.

Katherine let go of the knife, pushing Derek to sit down in the sand. “You’ll die from that,” she quietly stated as she gestured toward the knife. “But you’ll have maybe a few hours to think on your family’s sins.”

Derek looked up at Katherine, his hand fumbling to make a concerted effort to keep the knife still. “What about yours?” He weakly countered.

Katherine didn’t reply as she gracefully spun away from him, heading back to the ship and the others.

Derek tried to keep his breathing steady, avoiding sucking in a deep breath as the pain started to radiate through him. He stared, helplessly, as Cora was forced onto the ship. He knew she could see the knife and blood staining his robes despite Katherine’s insistence that Cora would remain none the wiser if he just accepted his fate.

Guilt rose like bile in his throat.

He did this to his family.

Derek kept his eyes on the horizon, watching the ship shrink into the distance as he tried to fight back the exhaustion he felt. He was growing weaker, his blood now staining the sand into a muddied red. He thought of Cora, fear gripping him when he realized that he couldn’t guarantee Cora’s survival in Katherine’s hands. He had no means of following them, only knowing their destination was Athens.

Those were the last thoughts he had before his body slumped down into the sand, his eyes closing against his wishes.

~*~

“Derek,” a gentle voice called his name as hands lightly caressed his face. “Can you hear me?”

Derek weakly groaned, unable to form words.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the voice fondly stated with an edge of amused relief in its tone. “Drink this, it will help with your pain.”

Derek struggled to swallow the liquid that passed his lips, unsure what the sweet aroma was. He was nearly convinced the person was feeding him wine.

“Rest now,” the voice instructed, a cold compressed pressed to Derek’s forehead.

“Co… ra” Derek forced himself to utter.

“Rest,” the voice repeated as a thumb brushed back and forth along Derek’s cheek in a caring manner.

Derek could barely open his eyes, initially unable to make out the figure obscured by daylight. He recognized a faintly familiar swath of moles on the stranger’s cheek and neck. His head lulled to the side as his eyes closed, unsure if he was seeing who he thought, believing it to be a hallucination as he started to lose consciousness again.

After all, why would Stiles be on Naxos?

~*~

Derek woke from a startling dream, the terror of his last moments amplified with the unknown. Pain enveloped his body as a reminder that it was not all a dream. He had been stranded on the island, Cora taken hostage by the Athenians.

Someone saved him.

Stiles.

Derek looked down his chest to see that he had been disrobed, a soft linen draped over his hips being the only modesty he had at the moment. He could see the bruised and red skin around the bandage currently wrapped around his lower abdomen, an attempt to cover the wound Katherine had left in her wake. He pressed a gentle hand to where he knew the knife had pierced his body, surprised to find it merely tender to the touch.

Derek looked around him, wincing as he struggled to sit up against the pain. His eyes scanned the room around him. He was in a small, humble cottage, a hearth housed still warm embers glowing brightly from within the ash. He observed the dried herbs hanging from the rafters above, curious as to their purpose when he couldn’t place their origin.

It was a strange, well-lived home.

Derek took his time as he slowly moved to stand. He nearly dropped the linen cloth more than a few times, clinging it to his body in an act of modesty. He had little desire to roam naked around a stranger’s home. He tied the cloth as best he could around his hips, satisfied that it stayed in place as he limped towards the home’s entrance. He leaned against the doorframe, closing his eyes as his vision blurred with dizziness. He drew in a series of steady breaths, blinking his eyes open when he felt more in control.

The island was basked in the morning light, a calm breeze rushing through the trees. The water lapped at the nearby shore, a rhythmic crash of waves breaking against the various rocks further out.

Even from a distance, Derek could make out the white peaks of the marble quarry. He had wondered, when they first arrived, why no one attempted to claim the quarry for their own profit. Perhaps there was something darker hidden beneath the beauty of the island.

“You’re awake.”

Derek startled, shuffling his weight to the side as he attempted to pivot away from the voice. He stumbled backwards against one of the trees, wincing as he curled against his side in pain.

“You’re more accident prone than me,” the person remarked as they quickly drew closer.

“Where did you … how did you find me?” Derek struggled, looking up at the person when their bare feet came into his view. He hadn’t been mistaken, then—Stiles was the one who tended to him.

Stiles reached a hand out to touch Derek’s arm before quickly withdrawing it. “I found you on the beach,” he explained. “I honestly didn’t think you’d leave with the Athenians when they escaped the labyrinth. It took me a while to catch up with you.”

Derek narrowed his gaze at Stiles. “You knew about them—” he softly grunted in pain, looking down to see the bandages were starting to tinge red. “You could have warned me—they killed Peter, and took my sister.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, taking a step closer. “Princess Katherine is a demigod,” he gently explained to Derek. “Her whole family is favored by different gods. If I interfered, there would be more at stake than your anger at me.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, attempting to even his breathing despite the betrayal he felt bubbling in his chest. He wanted to yell at Stiles, but he knew the truth—he wanted someone else to blame. “My uncle is dead, and my sister is lost,” he finally admitted, his body sagging against the tree he was using for support. “Both are my fault for thinking I could change things.” He released a pitiful laugh, one that did little to mask the sob that escaped as he pressed a hand over his mouth. “And now, I have no home.”

“Derek, you’re still healing,” Stiles softly said.

Derek shook his head. “Who are you?” He finally asked, expectantly looking at Stiles for the answers he couldn’t figure out.

Stiles lightly pursed his lips, looking away from Derek. He twisted his toes in the white sand as a distraction from Derek’s question. “I have many names,” he replied. “Not that I like many of them,” he added as an afterthought. He shyly looked up at Derek.

Realization started to take over Derek’s features. “You’re not human.”

“I had a human mother,” Stiles vehemently countered, a soft rage hidden in his tone—it was not the first time he had defended his human heritage. “She died before she could have me. My father saw fit that I live, though,” his voice explained in a gentler tone this time.

“You’re an Olympian,” Derek suddenly uttered. He saw how crestfallen Stiles suddenly looked, deflated by his words.

“Humans call me Dionysus,” Stiles finally stated. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he muttered to himself. He finally looked at Derek, his eyes falling to the now blood spoiled bandage. “Derek, I will tell you whatever you want to know, if you’ll just come back inside and rest.”

Derek hesitated, glancing back at the part of the island he could see. He really had nowhere else to go. “Okay,” he sighed in defeat, looking at Stiles. “But I want the truth.”

Stiles turned his head to the side, a puzzled look taking over his features before he enthusiastically nodded when Derek raised an eyebrow. “I’ve always given you it.”

Derek couldn’t tell what he felt pull tight in his gut, but it was something akin to trust.

“May I help you?” Stiles asked as he fidgeted.

Derek looked confused by Stiles’ question.

“I won’t touch you without your consent,” Stiles explained. “I already had to disrobe you to tend to your wound—I won’t touch you more than necessary.”

Derek tried not to think of Stiles disrobing him. “Help walking would be nice,” he chose to say instead of addressing those thoughts.

Stiles faintly smiled as he closed the gap between them, slipping Derek’s arm around his shoulders as he braced his own arm around Derek’s waist. He was careful to avoid the bandage.

Derek felt like a newborn colt, his steps unsteady as his legs nearly buckled with each move. He was thankful for Stiles’ support, even if he didn’t immediately trust that he was being assisted by the god of religious madness and drunken debauchery.

“You forgot fertility,” Stiles suddenly stated.

Derek stopped trying to walk, looking at Stiles. “What?”

A sudden pink blush blossomed across Stiles’ cheeks, rushing down across his neck. He cleared his throat some, looking away from Derek. “When mortals think of gods, it’s a form of prayer,” he explained.

“You can hear my thoughts now?” Derek asked with rising anxiety.

“Not like that,” Stiles quickly stated, looking at Derek with wide eyes. “Just if you think of us, we can hear it—like a prayer.”

Derek felt his own blush redden the tips of his ears. “Don’t you hear too many thoughts at once then?”

Stiles mumbled something Derek couldn’t hear. He dejectedly sighed when Derek stared at him for an answer. “It only works with favored humans,” he explained.

Derek was silent for a moment. “You favor me?”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Not out of the realm of possibility,” he answered, urging Derek to take another step towards the hut. “I favor you and Cora both—you’re not petty. For humans, that is.”

Derek couldn’t help the soft chuckle that snuck out. “If you favor Cora, can you hear her now?”

Stiles waited until he was able to get Derek to settle back down on the makeshift bed. “Yes,” he answered. “And she is safe—for now.”

Derek was reluctant to accept such simple news, but it put his fears to rest knowing that Cora was safe.

~*~

They sat in a mutual silence as Stiles inspected Derek’s wound, the god’s touch was gentle with care. Derek was amazed at the lack of pain he felt as Stiles wrapped another bandage around his torso.

“You’re healing well,” Stiles finally broke the quiet between them, taking a step back from Derek.

Derek nodded. “I appreciate your help,” he offered, realizing he hadn’t thanked Stiles for saving his life.

Stiles couldn’t help but frown some. “It was the least I could do,” he explained. He turned from Derek, tending to a few of the herbs resting in a plain wicker basket. He must have been harvesting them when Derek wandered from the hut.

“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful,” Derek cautiously began, knowing more than one tale serving a warning against any mortal who dared enrage an Olympian.

“You could never seem ungrateful,” Stiles replied as he turned to look at Derek. “I know you want to find Cora as soon as possible,” he explained his understanding. “And I will help you with that. But I’m not Hermes—I can’t fly you there.”

Derek looked resigned at Stiles’ words.

“I did send a message though,” Stiles quickly added the moment he saw Derek’s crestfallen face. “You should be completely healed by the time the ship arrives.”

Derek blinked, looking perplexed by Stiles. “A ship,” he repeated.

Stiles nodded as he turned back to tying a string along the stems of the herbs he worked with. “I figured it was the least I could manage. With Poseidon’s winds in the sails, it should be a quick journey to Athens.”

Derek was quiet as he sunk back onto his makeshift bed. “Is Cora in Athens now?”

Stiles paused, looking over his shoulder at Derek. “Yes,” he honestly answered. “In the palace.”

“Can you—” Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, his hand clenching tightly. He had to stay hopeful despite it all. “Can you protect her?”

Stiles knew he wore his admiration plainly when looking at Derek. “I also sent a message to Athena,” he finally stated. “I asked her to watch over Cora.”

Derek’s heart felt lighter with relief. It would have to be enough to know Cora would be watched over.

~*~

Derek held the cup of warmed honeyed wine close to his lips. He could feel the drink’s warmth in the coiling steam brushing against his skin. He had forgotten himself when he asked Stiles where he managed to get such fine wine. It wasn’t every day he dined with a god.

“Do you not like it?” Stiles softly inquired, noticing that Derek hadn’t touched the wine since he first tasted it.

Derek looked up from the fire, glancing at Stiles before looking down at his cup. “Oh, it’s not that,” he gently explained.

Stiles was still in his regular robes, sleeveless with a hem that reached just above his knees. He was wearing the simple summer clothes of a working youth, as if he couldn’t feel the cold air rolling off the waves. He looked less like a god than Derek did in the moment, a fur blanket draped over the prince’s shoulders was of superb quality and not the typical possession of a stranded human.

“It feels unreal,” Derek admitted as he looked down at the flames flickering.

Stiles faintly nodded his head in understanding. “I think I’d be more concerned if you didn’t find some fault with this.”

“Can I ask you—” Derek cut off his own words, sighing heavily. He spun the cup of wine in his hands.

Stiles remained silent, patiently waiting for Derek to continue.

“Why are the gods so cruel,” Derek softly spoke, finally looking up at Stiles. “What’s the point? Why be cruel? Why accept the prayers and hopes of mortals if none of it matters?” Tears welled in his eyes as he thought about his family—his father, Laura, Peter, and now Cora. He remembered the fear in the Athenian faces each night they were forced into the labyrinth.

Why didn’t the gods care enough to do something about it?

Stiles released a heavy breath of his own. “It does matter, though,” he gently started to unravel Derek’s words. “We’re cruel, just like humans. We have our own laws and confines, but some take advantage.”

Derek’s brow furrowed, unsure how he felt about Stiles’ simple contradiction.

“Have you heard the tale of Medusa?” Stiles asked as he settled down into the sand by the fire, pouring himself more wine while awaiting Derek’s acknowledgement.

“Of course,” Derek stated, glancing at Stiles.

“Humans usually get the tale wrong,” Stiles replied. “Like so many of the tales, they get it wrong.”

Derek remained silent as he listened to the crackle of the fire. He looked out at the water, unsure where his faith really rested in the moment. He was sitting on an excluded island, with the god of wine, having survived a wound that should have killed him. Despite his stomach roiling with fear that he had lost his faith, he wanted to know more about what they got wrong.

How many stories were twisted to suit another’s purpose? How many hid their own cruelty behind the respect others held for the gods?

Derek had to know. He needed something to believe, and in that moment, he wanted to believe in Stiles. “Who was she?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied incest tag: Peter and Talia are caught kissing by Derek. It is implied that Peter and Talia have been in a relationship possibly around the time Talia's husband died, perhaps sooner; they both are consenting in their relationship with each other, despite it being incest. Derek doesn't know if he is Peter's son or not, having repressed and pretended he did not know what happened. Others speak about the rumors, and it is suggested Peter was cursed by the gods for it. More is revealed at a later chapter as to why Peter was cursed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a chapter. Some personal things have come up this weekend, and I didn't have enough time to review/edit the remainder of the chapter. It cuts pretty nicely where I split it, so I'm hoping you enjoy this.

Medusa was a young priestess in the service of the goddess Athena.

Her beauty caught the eye of more than one worshipper, oftentimes being mistaken as a visitor instead of a devotee. Despite it all, she dedicated her life to caring for Athena’s temple, uninterested in the prospects of marriage so many bemoaned as a final fate. She took pride in caring for her goddess’s temple, the freedom she felt in carving her own path without a man lingering over her.

Companionship was not to her disliking, though. Her aversion solely lied with men.

Her beauty, like most women’s, caught the unwelcomed gaze of another, one who saw something that could be owned—tamed, even.

A selfish man who knew nothing of rejection, or punishment for crimes committed, as many men are accustomed. Favored by Poseidon, some say the sea god was his father.

He prayed to Poseidon for a night with the priestess after weeks of her refusal to gift him a passing glance.

Poseidon called Athena away from her temple, leaving the priestess at the mercy of fate. Though there was nothing ordained in the outline of Fortuna that lead to such an outcome. The indifference of a man unwilling to admit his own dark nature—his selfishness and disdain for others not bending to his will.

And Poseidon did not care about the tears, or tattered clothes of a goddess’s priestess. He did not care that a woman was left, violated, on the altar of a goddess he had misled.

Gods never care what happens to those not reflected in their image.

But Athena knew, without a word spoken from Medusa. The daughter of Zeus, a victim of a god’s own repulsive lust, understood.

She appeared to her priestess, and asked if there was any gift she could give her, for justice could not be had. Poseidon was one of the Trinity of Gods, and Athena would not be allowed to seek punishment for his favored priest. And the courts of man did not care about Medusa’s pain.

To never be the object of another man’s gaze. The strength to defend herself.

Men would blame Medusa, spinning a tale of a goddess cursing her priestess for seducing a man in her temple. They were all ignorant, unable to understand.

Men would turn to stone for looking on Medusa, their unwelcomed gaze being their last. Women would use her as a shield.

The image of Medusa would continue to grow in importance with each time her story was retold. Her visage would come to guard shelters for women seeking refuge from men. She would become the silent protector that women needed from men and god alike.

~*~

“So it was a lie,” Derek finally stated when Stiles finished his tale. He shook his head. “Is it all a lie?” He asked as he looked up at Stiles.

Stiles released a faint sigh before downing the rest of his wine. He discarded the cup in the sand. He looked at Derek as he spoke, “It’s written by the ones in control of the narrative. It doesn’t mean all of it is true, or that it’s all lies.”

Derek’s features soured.

“Gods are just as selfish as men,” Stiles added. “Is that hard to believe?”

Derek shook his head.

“Medusa is just one of many tales obscured and changed to benefit others’ selfish ideas of right.” Stiles used a stick to poke the fire, quickly stealing a glance at Derek before he found himself staring.

Derek had small braids still pleated through his hair, little gold hoops engraved with different symbols of prayer looped into them. He shifted his hold on the fur wrapped around his shoulders, the new robes he wore were much lighter than the bloodied ones Stiles had gotten rid of and he had yet to grow accustomed to Naxos’ nightly climate.

His hair was a darker shade than Stiles’ own light auburn hair, Derek’s beard appearing even darker with the passing days of stubble slowly growing longer and filling in. His cheekbones were sharp, a prominent feature among many other blended beauty traits. His eyes were a kaleidoscope of colors, a softness in the bronze freckles scattered throughout his green irises.

Stiles would have guessed Derek was more god than man when first meeting him. It was Derek’s timid reaction to him that convinced him otherwise. He had never witnessed such compassion in a careless environment, and it stirred something in him to know more about the quaintly known prince of Crete.

Derek reached his hand up to twist the small braid that rested against the soft curve of his throat, unaware of Stiles’ gaze lingering on him. He absentmindedly fiddled with the braid as he thought of what his mother must have been going through now.

Derek had been told, often, that he looked a great deal like his mother—much more than his sisters ever did. He used to be proud of that fact. He passed the age of marriage, many expected him to follow the duty of procuring an heir for his family’s throne. But things changed for Derek when he discovered his preference leaned heavily towards other men. It was acceptable to find pleasure with another man, but never to expect more. Derek wanted more.

It was the first reason for Talia to disregard Derek as nothing but a void mark on the family name.

Derek rebuffed marrying for a while, arguing that Laura had yet to take a spouse. He made the mistake of telling Peter, foolishly thinking his uncle would hide it from his mother. Heated, vulgar words were traded between Derek and his mother. It had been only months before Peter had been changed by the gods.

Then out of spite, Derek refused to go to the games. He wouldn’t give his mother the glory of having two children succeed in the competition.

When Laura died, it killed whatever was left of Derek’s relationship with Talia.

After that, Derek stopped trying.

“Why were you at the party?” Derek faintly asked.

Stiles hugged his leg against his chest as he shuffled his weight. “Your sister told you about me, didn’t she?”

Derek nodded.

“I was walking through the hallways when I heard the guards say there was one less Athenian,” Stiles simply explained. “I shouldn’t have lied, but I did. I pretended to be the fourteenth Athenian in hopes it would deter your mother’s anger.”

Derek sighed, knowing Stiles’ reasoning held a great deal of weight.

“I wish there was more I could have done,” Stiles admitted.

Derek gracefully stood, removing the fur from around his shoulders. He folded the material and carefully laid it back on the log it had been on when he joined Stiles at the fire. He rubbed his hands absentmindedly along his arms in a comforting manner. “I wished that for a long time,” he stated, looking at Stiles. “But you did more than most.”

Stiles frowned at that.

“Good night, Stiles,” Derek finally uttered. He offered a small smile as he departed for the hut.

~*~

Derek leaned against the ship’s railing, his gaze downcast as he watched the waves crashing against the ship’s haul. He remembered how sick Cora had gotten each time the wind picked up and surged their vessel forward. He was relieved when Stiles informed him days ago that the men had arrived on Naxos and would be taking them to Athens.

Derek was unsure what to do once they arrived, knowing that there was a likelihood he’d have to fight for Cora to be released from her captors. He did not fully believe Stiles’ reassurance that it would end well.

Derek startled when he saw something jump out the water next to the waves. He relaxed when he realized they were dolphins. He faintly smiled, recalling how Laura favored the creatures—he took it for the sign of reassurance he felt it was.

“So, you’re the prince,” a deep voice uttered behind Derek.

Derek turned to look at the man, relaxing when he realized it was the captain. Boyd, Stiles had called the man, was quiet for a man of his position, but his crew seemed to respect and follow through the silent orders directed at them. For all he fondly enjoyed Stiles’ constant ramblings, Derek appreciated sharing company with someone who didn’t mind silence.

Boyd’s skin was dark, darker than the olive skin tone Derek had grown used to in Crete. His hair reached his shoulders, pleated in a different manner than Derek’s own hair. His eyes were a deep brown, a shade close to Stiles’ eyes. His body held the muscle of a warrior, refined from months at sea pulling various riggings and even rowing along with his crew.

Boyd hailed from a place Derek had never seen before, though heard many tales of. The heart of the world, tucked away at the center of where the sun shone brightest, was considered the most sacred of places by the gods. It was a paradise, untouched by many of the Greeks.

Boyd laughed when Derek asked him about his home. He told Derek the truth—his home was like Derek’s, though much more welcoming than the selfish nature of the Greek’s love of royalty. They had their traditions, but valued people more than titles. His home was a paradise, but also could be unforgiving at times. It was the way of nature.

Boyd spoke about his own fondness for his family and home, though admitted he could not return for reasons he chose not to disclose.

Derek respected Boyd for that, and it was why he never told Boyd who he was other than Stiles’ friend.

“I’m a prince,” Derek corrected Boyd as he turned to face him. He knew this conversation would come, feeling the eyes of the crew on him—he was happy it was Boyd who addressed it. He leaned against the railing and rope riggings, crossing his arms over his chest as he couldn’t help looking after the others rowing the vessel.

“Yes,  _ a _ prince, but you’re  _ the  _ prince he talks about,” Boyd countered as he walked over to the railing, looking into the water below. “And if you’re the Cretan prince who just ran away, I’d say there is more to worry about than the Athenians.”

Derek’s heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. Stiles did not speak of Crete and the aftermath of his mother being informed of what had happened. “What have you heard?”

Boyd looked at Derek. “It’s rumored the Cretan Queen executed the guards on duty the night of the escape.” He paused, drawing in a soft breath before adding, “She has disavowed her children—claimed they have no right to the Cretan throne.”

Derek remained silent. He wasn’t sure what he felt. He wanted nothing more than to be free of Crete and his mother’s insanity. He hoped Cora wouldn’t be hurt by such an outcome.

“With the minotaur dead, she has nothing to threaten anyone with,” Boyd continued to explain. “I suppose, in a way, you are free.”

Derek couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m not free until my sister is out of Argent hands.”

Boyd nodded, standing upright as he pulled away from the railing. “That’s his end goal,” he uttered as he departed from Derek.

Derek snuck a glance at Stiles, admiring him from afar as Stiles sat perched on the front bow of the ship. He knew the fairing of the wind had to be Stiles’ doing, but he was still unsure why Stiles was adamant in helping him.

~*~

Derek remained perched against the railing, his head resting against one of the spoked as he kept his eyes on the water.

The ship was coasting with a gracious breeze as the men took a rest from rowing. The moon brightly reflected off the blackened waves as night stretched over them. The dolphins were still traveling beside the ship, though surfacing less frequently than before. It was as if they were keeping Derek company during the trip.

Derek turned his head to look at the owner of approaching footsteps, faintly smiling when he realized it was Stiles. He accepted the offered cup in Stiles’ outstretched hand, drawing it close to his chest as he looked down at it.

“If you’d prefer water, I can change it,” Stiles commented when he realized Derek was staring down at the wine.

“You can do that?” Derek curiously asked as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles blinked at Derek, gesturing over his shoulder at the barrels. “The water barrels are just over there.”

Derek chuckled when he realized what Stiles meant.

Stiles smiled in return. “I can also change it with a wave of my hand, but that tends to startle people.”

“Not much startles me anymore,” Derek admitted. Something fluttered in his stomach when Stiles sat down next to him.

“You’re remarkable, in that way,” Stiles noted as he sipped his wine.

Derek examined Stiles’ profile, taking a moment to himself for the first time since being alone with Stiles.

Stiles’ skin was remarkably pale, especially for someone who spent his time living on an island. Beauty marks decorated his skin—less like a sprinkle of stardust and more like constellations dotted across the night sky. His eyes were a warmed honey brown; his lips were bowed and shaded a pale pink.

Bathed in the torchlight, Stiles seemed even more unreal than before.

For the first time, Derek saw him as a god.

As if Derek had spoken, Stiles turned to look at him. He held Derek’s gaze, unblinkingly.

“Why did you save me?”

Stiles didn’t pull his gaze away from Derek. “I told you, I favor you.”

“But why?” Derek pressed, needing to know.

Stiles offered a small smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Derek held his breath when Stiles’ hand withdrew the cup from his hold. He allowed the cup to slip from his hand, eyes quickly dashing after it as Stiles set it on the deck next to his own. His heart beat quickly in his chest when Stiles’ hand left the cup to reach out towards him. He held his breath when Stiles hesitated, the god’s open palm hovering so close to Derek’s cheek without touching. Disappointment sunk in his stomach when Stiles pulled his hand away.

“When we reach Athens,” Stiles started, breaking eye contact with Derek. “I’ll help you rescue Cora—keep you both safe. And then you’ll be free to start a life wherever you wish.” He released a heavy breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to sway you with hopeful words, but … you’re welcome to live on Naxos—you and Cora.”

Derek’s eyes widened in surprise.

“And I mean that in an amicable way,” Stiles elaborated as he looked at Derek. “You can come and go, whatever you want.”

Derek nodded. “I would like that.”

Stiles looked pleasantly surprised by Derek’s words.

“But you never answered my question,” Derek added as he angled his body towards Stiles.

Stiles nervously looked down at his fidgeting hands. He started to shake his head. “Some times you just feel a connection,” he weakly uttered. “I like Cora,” he added in explanation. “She’s been a companion to me more than anyone. And you …” He looked up at Derek. “I feel a rare connection. A flickering of emotion that I—” he stopped himself, dropping his head as he blushed in embarrassment. “I wasn’t going to tell you that.”

Derek reached a hand up, fingertips caressing Stiles’ cheek as he lifted Stiles’ face to look at him. He brushed his thumb across Stiles’ cheekbone. He faintly smiled at him. “I’d like you to tell me about that,” he uttered.

Stiles leaned his head forward, pressing their foreheads together as he reached hands up to cup Derek’s face.

“My breath catches whenever I see you,” Stiles started to confess. “I love your voice, the way you speak about even the most mundane things. I find myself wanting to know even the littlest thing about you.” Stiles’ hands gently dropped down to Derek’s throat, caressing down to his shoulders as he pulled his head back some. “It overwhelms,” he weakly admitted in a tone of wonderment. “And I’m not used to it.”

Derek began to close the gap between them, his lips nearly grazing Stiles’ before he stopped. His thumb brushed against the corner of Stiles’ lips. He breathily asked, “Is this okay?”

Stiles enthusiastically nodded as he leaned forward to close the gap between their lips.

Kissing Stiles was different than anything Derek had felt before.

Derek had trysts before, fleeting and in the heat of the moment. He had never tried to deny himself those desires, unlike he had tried to hide his want for Stiles.

The kiss was slow—unrushed.

Derek cradled Stiles’ face in his hands, eyes slipping shut as he focused on nothing but the taste of Stiles’ lips. Thousands of thoughts rushed through Derek’s mind.

Could he have this? Could he be more than a fleeting memory or infatuation to a god? Part of Derek didn’t care—he wanted, even for a moment, to feel alive the way he did when Stiles put his hands on him. He was tired of ignoring it, pretending he could be the perfect son his mother needed. He had no birthright anymore. He could live on Naxos—he could have Stiles.

“Your mind never slows,” Stiles uttered in adoration when he pulled away from their kiss for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Derek started to apologize.

Stiles shook his head, pressing a fond kiss to Derek’s lips. “You never have to apologize to me.” He smiled at Derek; a smile that warmed Derek’s heart and dared to light up the darkness around them. “I like knowing I’m on your mind when we kiss.”

Derek faintly laughed, dipping his chin some. “So long as that is reciprocated.”

Stiles nodded as he lightly chuckled. “Always.”

Derek felt as if he was wading out of heavy water, afraid to blink and have Stiles vanish from his world. He was told from a young age to be cautious of gods and their kind, never knowing what he would be expected to sacrifice to their fancies. He wanted to give anything if it meant he could keep this with Stiles. And it scared part of him to know that.

~*~

Derek reluctantly listened to Stiles when they reached the Athenian dock. He remained onboard with Boyd, waiting for Stiles to return with Cora. He couldn’t help his pacing, despite knowing Boyd was growing amusingly annoyed with his antics.

“Stiles is a god,” Boyd rationalized. “If anyone can get your sister out of the Athenian palace, it would be a god.”

Derek stopped pacing, deeply sighing before walking over to sit beside Boyd. He was dejected in his actions as he ran his hand through his hair. “I’m worried for both of them.” He looked at Boyd, catching sight of the man’s small smile. “I know it makes no sense to fear for a god, but I do.”

“Stiles is most beloved by his father,” Boyd replied. “Even if Stiles does not have a great relationship with Zeus.”

Derek looked at Boyd, his lips pressed together as he held back from asking the questions he burned to have answered.

“You want to ask something,” Boyd knowingly uttered.

Derek leaned against the railing behind them. “Have you met his father?”

Boyd snorted. “I’ve met his human father,” he offered.

Derek looked at Boyd in confusion.

Boyd looked away from Derek as he cleared his throat, as if he had to prepare himself to admit what he knew. “Zeus raped Stiles’ mother,” he looked at Derek. “As is common with Zeus.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t surprised he had been raised on lies, not after Stiles’ retelling of Medusa’s tale.

“She refused to acknowledge him as the father,” Boyd added. “He killed her, and was going to let Stiles die. But John—Stiles’ human father—prayed to Zeus to allow his child to live. He spoke to Zeus’ vanity.” He shook his head. “Stiles got to be raised by John, which was a blessing. He knew he was different from the other children in the village.” He looked at Derek as he continued, “Stiles sees no one but John as his father.”

“As he should,” Derek dared to utter. He didn’t know if he was making the same mistake Peter had by speaking such blasphemy against Zeus’ will. “John raised him, cared for him. That is what matters.”

Boyd silently nodded his head in agreement.

“I thought Stiles was much older,” Derek commented. “I didn’t know he was young enough to have a human father still alive.”

“Stiles got other Olympians to agree to make his father immortal, much to Zeus’ anger,” Boyd explained. “Stiles is a few hundred years old—at least.”

Derek nodded. Hearing the tale of Stiles’ origins left Derek wondering if he had more to understand about his own family. He wasn’t sure he was ready to know that truth.

~*~

Peter once told Derek about the gods falling in love with mortals. He had spoken in such repulsed tones—as if their entitlement meant nothing to him, or the consequences that brought.

Cora was born the night their father died.

Died. Murdered. No one ever told them which it was.

Derek was certain he knew now which it was.

Talia had three children early in her marriage to Philip. One died after a week of life. Laura and Derek were only separated by the year it took for her to have a child.

Derek had no love for his own father the older he became, seeing Philip’s cruelty first hand. There was nothing but lavish comfort and salacious desire in his every action.

Philip could change his temperament on the flip of a coin, and Derek had seen his mother with bruises more than once.

Peter resented the gods because Philip claimed to be a son of Zeus. It was a laughable claim when it was impossible to prove, though in the end Peter’s punishment proved it true. Philip tried to pry the throne from Talia’s control throughout their marriage, and Crete allowed the foreign King to mistreat their native born Queen.

A woman they wanted to see put in her place.

Peter grew angrier with each hand Philip raised to Talia.

Derek’s hands were shaking that night as he washed the blood off his skin. He scrubbed his hands with the once pristine cloth, watching as the water tinged pink. He closed his eyes as he struggled to even out his breathing. He submerged his hands into the water basin, fingertips scraping across the metal bottom—an attempt to close his hands and hide the blood.

Derek wasn’t the one to kill Philip, but he wounded him beyond the help of healers. He thought he was protecting Peter when he intervened—he didn’t remember the knife in his hand. He watched, in muted shock, as Peter smashed Philip’s head against the mosaic floor. He stood in frozen fear when Peter dragged Philip to the balcony’s edge.

_ I’ll handle it _ , Peter had said.

It wasn’t until the next day, when Peter joined the family for celebration of a healthy baby, that Derek questioned everything. He could never know the truth of his own origin. He could never ask and know for certain that the answer he received wasn’t a lie.

But he knew in the way he saw Talia look at Peter; the lack of tears when guards informed the Queen of the King’s inebriated fall from the balcony overseeing the cliffs.

He knew he hadn’t killed his true father that night.

~*~

Derek hugged Cora against his chest as his sister shivered through the cold night air. He pressed his cheek against the top of Cora’s head.

Cora tried to keep her breathing calm, overwhelmed with an array of emotions when she finally saw that Dionysus told the truth—her brother was alive and waiting for her on a ship in the dock.

“Thank you,” Derek uttered to Stiles when the young god finished speaking with Boyd about their departure.

Stiles shook his head. “Don’t thank me until we escape,” he explained. His gaze dropped to Cora, a fond smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He was happy that he managed to reach her unharmed. He found her locked in one of the highest rooms in the Athenian palace.

Cora hesitated before accepting Stiles’ help, only accepting it when he mentioned Derek.

“I told you he was real,” Cora mumbled against Derek’s chest.

Derek faintly chuckled. “I know you did,” he replied, looking up at Stiles.

“Prepare to row for Naxos,” Boyd announced to the crew.

Cora pulled far enough away from Derek to look up at him.

Derek simply nodded, hoping it put Cora at ease to know they’d have a home despite it all.

Cora had tucked herself into the corner beneath the stairs on deck that lead up to the helm. She finally fell asleep against Derek, after days of exhaustion in the Argent’s hands—she slept as little as possible once they had reached Athens, planning an escape. She told Derek about her attempted escapes, and how she nearly escaped into the mountains if it hadn’t been for some shepherds. She laid down, resting her head against the top of Derek’s knee, curling against him.

Derek placed his hand on Cora’s back, drawing in a heavy breath as Cora let out a stuttering breath of relief. His sister was safe—they were safe. He could relax some now.

Derek sat with his back against the wooden frame, pulling the blanket up to cover Cora when she started to shiver against the colder wind blowing over the ship. He brushed his fingers through Cora’s hair as she slept against his thigh. He looked up when someone ducked their head beneath the steps, pleased to find that it was Stiles.

Stiles quickly closed his mouth when he saw that Cora was sleeping.

“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Derek replied in a soft but firm voice. “If anything, the waves would wake her before your voice did.”

Stiles nodded. “I wanted to check on you both.”

Derek looked at the spot beside him, knowing Stiles could fit there easily and still be hidden beneath their hideaway.

Stiles slunk down to sit beside Derek, their shoulders brushing for a brief moment. “She seemed happy about Naxos,” he decided to start.

Derek looked down at Cora. “She wanted to stay there when we arrived,” he offered.

“I wish I was Hermes,” Stiles uttered. “I could have whisked you off to Naxos in a flash.”

Derek looked at Stiles with a smile. “I prefer you being the god of wine,” he replied.

“Insulting,” Stiles jokingly scoffed. “I am the god of ritual ecstacy and debauchery,” he smiled at Derek’s laugh. “But wine and merrymaking is a pleasant addition.”

Derek reached his free hand down to hold Stiles’ own, threading their fingers together. He lifted Stiles’ hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against Stiles’ knuckles. “Either way, I’m glad you’re here.”

Stiles stared at Derek in wonderment, a giddiness roiling in his stomach as a shy smile took over.

~*~

Fog blinded Derek as he turned in place. His eyes dashed across his surroundings. He released an uneasy breath when he realized he couldn’t remember what happened. He called out Cora’s name, though no sound came out. He pressed a hand to his mouth, unsure why his voice wouldn’t work.

He last remembered being on the ship with Stiles and Cora, heading back to Naxos. They were free, ready to live their lives without fear. With Stiles.

But something bad happened. He couldn’t remember, and the fear started to overwhelm him. Cora. Stiles. He wanted to go home.

Derek looked down at his feet, realizing that he wasn’t wearing his sandals. He lifted his feet, pressing his toes down into the blackened sand. The sand reminded him of Naxos, the softness being familiar despite the contrast of color. He knelt down, placing his hand against the sand. He dug down into it, rubbing the sand between his fingers. He couldn’t feel it.

Derek felt sick when he realized he couldn’t feel any cold or warmth. The sand fell in clumps between his fingers, none of it sticking to his skin. He stood, looking around the fog once more.

Bile threatened to rise when he drew closer to the water lapping at the sand.

A boat started to manifest through the thick fog, a tall hooded figure pushing an oar through the darkened water.

Derek lurched sideways when a shadowy figure passed by him. He saw a glint of something golden in the figure’s outstretched hand.

The hooded figure on the boat moved slowly once it reached the shore. It reached a pale hand out, a palm outstretched to take offered gold. The hooded figure turned its head towards Derek, closing its hand.

Coins. He had no coins to give the boatman.

Derek was dead, stranded on the blackened shores of the river Styx with no memory of how he got there.

Prayer. He prayed to Stiles, hoping his thoughts would reach him still.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Lydia is Persephone, and Allison is Hades; Hades was the name for the Underworld and the god, often interchanged. Stiles does refer to the Underworld as Hades at one point
> 
> Enjoy <3

“Derek!” Stiles yelled when he saw the blood splatter across his robes. He hadn’t known Derek would have instinctively shielded him.

Foolish. Blindly foolish, Stiles would have called him if there wasn’t a cold fear gripping him at the realization that Derek wouldn’t heal. He knew Derek had reacted on instinct alone—he wished Derek hadn't tried to save him.

Stiles placed his hands around the arrows stuck in Derek’s chest, as if he could bless the wounds away. He remembered seeing Asclepius cure wounds and minor pains. But he knew even this was beyond a god’s healing power.

Cora cried as she knelt next to Derek, her grip on Derek’s arm tight enough to make her knuckles turn white from the tension. “Do something!” She begged of Stiles, frantic when her brother didn’t move.

For the first time in all of Stiles’ centuries, he knew what it meant to be truly helpless.

~*~

Lydia pruned the wilted petals from the flowers. She tossed the petals down to the soil, folding them back into the earth. She looked up at the sun, smiling to herself as she waited for the day to end. She’d be returning to the underworld in less than a week for the autumn and winter seasons. She knew she had already decided to stay longer this year than she should, her mother’s wishes be damned.

“Lydia!”

Lydia straightened up as she turned to see the person wildly searching her temple. She walked out to the shrine, surprised to see it was Stiles.

Stiles was ragged, a look of utter urgency.

“Stiles, what— what’s wrong?” Lydia asked as she walked forward to brace Stiles from falling.

“I can’t find— I need to see Allison,” Stiles quickly stated, his hands tightening on Lydia’s biceps. “Please, please. I can’t find Hermes, I need to get to Hades.” He was out of breath, as if he had run from whatever happened.

“What happened?” Lydia pressed in question.

“He died,” Stiles weakly uttered, his voice shaking.

Lydia’s features fell. “Who?”

Stiles pressed a hand to his mouth, covering up the sharp sob that escaped him. “It’s my fault, I should have been careful—”

“Stiles,” Lydia sternly uttered his name to gain his attention. “Clearly you’re speaking about a human,” she started, nodding her head as she waited for Stiles to counter her claim. She continued when Stiles didn’t argue, “Now, which human?”

“The prince,” Stiles finally stated. He didn’t want to say Derek’s name, knowing it would feel empty—hollow and different now. Saying the dead’s name was always different.

“The Cretan prince,” Lydia softly said, understanding in her voice. She had heard Stiles speak of the young man often. She drew in a deep sigh. “Tell me what happened.” She started to walk with Stiles, guiding him back to where he had come from.

~*~

Derek wandered the shore, his feet unable to feel the blackened sande beneath them. His gaze looked out at the river Styx’s dark waters, seeing how eerie and vacant they appeared. He watched as Charon accepted more souls before always turning an eye towards him.

There were others stranded on the shores, though they were few and separated. Some appeared more aware than others, curious if they had started to forget themselves with time.

A heaviness suddenly lifted from his chest, leaving Derek unsure what the feeling was until the weight of the coin filled his hand. He stared down at the gold coin, recognizing it as Cretan. He startled when he heard Charon’s ship press ashore, the sound of wood scraping against sand. He looked at Charon, realizing that the ferryman was reaching out for his coin. He hesitated for a moment, looking behind him. He thought there was something he was forgetting, a voice telling him not to stay on the shores.

A sharp cry cut through Derek’s thoughts.

Derek looked back at Charon, noticing the impatience in the ferryman’s motions. He took a step forward, knowing there was nothing that could change his fate: he had died, and was left on the banks of the river Styx. He had no choice but to go with Charon, and to be judged for his actions.

Derek dropped the coin into Charon’s outstretched hand as he stepped onto the vessel.

~*~

Lydia frowned when she saw Derek’s lifeless body. She could see where the arrows had entered his body, now nothing but bloodied wounds remained. She drew in an unsteady breath when she saw the faint shine of a gold coin slipped between Derek’s lips. “Charon would have taken him already,” she suddenly stated, looking at Stiles. She shook her head, “He could be judged already.”

Stiles looked at Cora before falling to his knees next to Derek, leaning over to pull the coin from between Derek’s lips. “I told you not to,” he weakly uttered.

“He’s dead,” Cora cried. “I’m not going to leave him on the shores like our uncle.”

“I paid tribute to your uncle,” Stiles nearly snapped. “I put the gold coin between his teeth myself.”

“He can’t be brought back,” Cora argued.

Stiles looked at Lydia.

Lydia slowly drew in a breath. “She has a point, Stiles.”

“You were moved by Orpheus’s plight for Eurydice,” Stiles angrily began to rise from his spot next to Derek. He tightened his hold on the coin. “He deserves to live!”

“And who are you to decide that?” Lydia sharply demanded. “My wife does what she can, but she can’t save every unfortunate soul.”

“Lydia, please,” Stiles pressed. “Please,” he begged, tears burning his eyes. “Please, even if it means I can’t see him— Whatever price you or Allison demand, I don’t care. If it means he lives, I’ll pay it.”

Lydia closed her eyes, hanging her head.

~*~

Derek looked around him, taking in the greenery and grandeur of the palace room. He didn’t recognize the people around him, curious if he had met them only once before. He stilled when a solid hand touched his shoulder. He turned his head to look at the owner of the hand, his breath catching once he realized it was Peter.

Peter was no longer in an altered state, no malformations or scars from Zeus’ punishment. He looked calm and at peace. He looked how Derek remembered him.

“You’re … ” Derek shakily started before drawing his uncle into a tight embrace.

Peter faintly smiled as he hugged Derek, placing his hand on the back of Derek’s head in a comforting manner.

“I’m sorry,” Derek mumbled against Peter’s shoulder. “Peter, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter replied.

“I didn’t want anyone else to die,” Derek explained despite Peter’s reassurance.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Derek,” Peter replied, pulling back from Derek to look at him. He cupped Derek’s cheek in his hand, brushing away a stray tear. “You shouldn’t be here though,” he stated, turning to look around them. “Something changed.”

Derek followed Peter’s example, looking around them to see the others. It looked so similar to the Cretan palace they grew up in. But something was different. “I can’t remember what happened,” he admitted.

“It took me a while to remember,” Peter softly stated. “It becomes easier after the judgment.”

The judges.

Fear gripped Derek once more.  He looked at Peter. “Have you met them?”

Peter nodded. “It’s not as scary as you’d think.”

Derek drew in an unsteady breath. “I’ve done terrible things, Peter.”

Peter was quiet for a moment as he observed Derek. “You have nothing to feel guilty for,” he finally stated.

“You seem to forget that I killed … ” Derek stopped himself as he looked up at Peter. It was his chance to possibly know the truth.

Peter’s features softened, as if he knew what Derek was about to ask.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t even know if he was my father.”

A flicker of shame seemed to crawl across Peter’s face. “You were protecting me, Derek—protecting your mother and sister.”

Derek looked away from Peter, his gaze focusing on the lit brazier. “He knew, didn’t he?”

Peter released a heavy sigh, refusing to look at Derek. “It took him years to figure it out.”

“You never should have asked me to keep that secret,” Derek forcefully uttered.

“What would you have me do in that moment?” Peter seriously asked, finally looking up at Derek. “I wanted to shield you from that.”

“From knowing I’m the result of incest?” Derek finally said the words, feeling as if they turned to ash in his mouth. Hot tears burned his eyes, realizing this was the first time he ever breathed life into those words.

Peter was quiet for a moment, shaking his head. “We don’t know that.”

“But it’s a possibility,” Derek angrily replied. “Think about it, Peter—everyone always says I look so much like mother, but they find it hard to see any similarity to Philip.”

“Perhaps they’re gossiping morons,” Peter remarked. “What Talia and I did … we tried to resist—at first. We knew, Derek, that it was wrong.”

Derek’s features softened some, feeling guilt for his anger.

“We tried to keep it hidden. And never would have made you witness it.”

Derek rubbed his hands over his face as he tried to come to terms with it. “I understand,” he shakily uttered.

“We never knew if … ” Peter cut off his words before finishing. He reached a hand out, an aborted gesture when he realized his attempt to comfort could do more harm than good. “I know you want to know the truth,” he honestly started. “And I wish I could tell you. But neither of us know—we left it up to the gods.”

A sharp sob of laughter erupted from Derek’s chest. “The gods,” he uttered in distaste, his tone softer now. “They don’t care about us.”

“But we’re at their mercy,” Peter added.

“I died for one,” Derek suddenly stated. He looked at Peter, “I don’t even remember it, but I know I died for him.”

“For all the good love creates, it can destroy just as easily,” Peter replied.

“I know it is selfish,” Derek softly stated. “But I don’t want to be dead.”

Peter easily pulled Derek into a comforting hug, wrapping his arms around the younger man.

Derek tucked his face into Peter’s shoulder, his hands tightening into fists against Peter’s back.

~*~

Allison’s brow furrowed as she listened to Lydia.

She had been so overwhelmed with joy when she saw Lydia had arrived early to spend the coming months together. She was caught off guard to see Stiles with Lydia.

Lydia’s lips brushed Allison’s cheek, her arm linking with Allison’s as she tried to explain why her arrival differed from her normal return.

“Are the Argents dead?” Allison asked, looking over to Stiles.

Stiles hesitated before nodding. “Their ships were drowned in the seas.”

Allison sighed, looking at Lydia.

“He’s one human,” Lydia reasoned as she looked back at Allison.

Allison grimaced some, knowing that for all her power and domain, she had to play by the rules regardless.

“How many demigods have marched down here and stolen undeserving fools from their fates?” Lydia continued. “He seems to have been a kind soul.”

Allison looked at Stiles. She couldn’t deny she was swayed by their plight.

“Please, Allison,” Stiles softly begged. “It was my fault—if I could change places with him … ” He looked down at his hands. “He deserves to live.”

Lydia looked at Allison, her hand gently touching Allison’s arm in a placating gesture.

“If he chooses to go back with you, I will allow it,” Allison finally stated. “He hasn’t been judged yet. His uncle received him,” she explained. 

Lydia drew Allison into a kiss, hands cupping her wife’s face as she gave thanks. “I love your compassion.”

Allison smiled, kissing Lydia again. “I’m biased when you’re present.”

“I’ll delay the wine festivals,” Stiles stated as he turned back to look at them both, remembering himself in his excitement to hear Allison's agreement. “Your mother will have to agree to you staying here longer then,” he offered to Lydia.

“A gracious gift,” Lydia replied. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she spoke to Allison, kissing her wife’s hands before following after Stiles. She wanted to escort her friend to his destination.

~*~

Stiles’ steps slowed when he saw Derek, his stomach clenching with uncertainty. “Derek!”

Derek slowly turned, looking at Stiles for the first time. He drew in a slow breath, a rush of memory coming back to him. He swayed some, realizing he hadn’t thought he’d see Stiles. He was afraid he wasn’t seeing Stiles, only imagining it.

Peter touched Derek’s shoulder, gaining his attention. “You should go to him,” he softly stated.

Derek furrowed his brow.

Peter poked the bend in Derek’s brow, faintly smirking when his nephew scowled. “A god came to Hades for you,” he stated.

“I’m dead, I can’t—”

“My body has been burned, Derek,” Peter explained. “I have been judged and accepted my death. But if a god has come for you, and you can’t keep yourself from looking back … then you are not ready.” He pushed one of Derek’s braids back behind his shoulder, a fondness in his gesture—remembering how he would braid Derek’s hair for him when he was a boy. Before everything went wrong. Those simple moments were the ones he would miss. “I’ll be here when you need me,” he gently stated.

Derek looked at Peter, finally taking a step towards Stiles when his uncle gently pushed him.

Stiles knew he should have been gentle in his actions, but he was overcome with emotion when he hugged Derek.

“You came for me,” Derek uttered in disbelief, pressing his face into Stiles’ shoulder as he hugged him tightly.

“Always,” Stiles answered, pulling back to look at Derek.

Derek’s fingertips brushed against Stiles’ cheek, a faint caress of adoration. He pressed his forehead against Stiles’, closing his eyes as he released a heavy breath.

Stiles paused before leaning forward to kiss Derek, gentle but without hesitation.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him in close.

“I was scared,” Stiles softly stated as he broke from their kiss. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I wasn’t thinking when I—” Derek shook his head. “I couldn’t just stand by.”

Stiles pressed his cheek against Derek’s, hugging him again. “I won’t let you risk that again—I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

“But I… I can’t leave,” Derek’s words faded as he looked up at Lydia. He wasn’t sure who she was, but knew her to be a god like Stiles when he saw how she shined through the Underworld’s haze.

“If you wish to leave, my wife has allowed you to,” Lydia finally stated, explaining her presence.

Derek looked back at Stiles in disbelief.

Stiles hesitated before nodding. “Hades’ ruler has offered you your life back,” he explained, his hands gently taking hold of Derek’s. “If you want it.”

Derek realized he was given a choice—to stay and find a peace he didn’t think he could have in life.

Stiles lifted Derek’s hand, placing a tender kiss to the base of his thumb, along the curve of his palm. “Whatever you choose, I will watch over Cora.” He held back his tears, knowing he had no right to sway Derek in this matter. “You deserve to make your own choices, Derek. And whatever you want, I support you.”

Derek thought about his conversations with Stiles. He wondered if he too would become another story twisted to best suit the status quo. He thought of Cora hearing those tales, left to guess if her family was cursed beyond salvation. He knew Peter had wanted to ask about Talia, to know how she was in the aftermath of losing her whole family to a twisted chance of fate.

He thought of Stiles—sweet, honest, funny Stiles. A god who cared about a mortal’s choice.

He could live, and fight, for a different fate.

With Stiles.

“I want you.”

A few moments passed before Stiles smiled, a beautiful answer laid bare for Derek to know.

~*~

Many happy years passed, commemorated with the formation of stars spread into a constellation in memory of a love that blossomed from chance.

And when Derek’s hair turned white, and his soul was ready to part from this world, Stiles had won the hearts of enough gods to grant them both their greatest wish.

They would not be parted by death again.

Cora laid Derek’s body to rest in the family tomb, to be remembered by many loved ones and even travelers seeking a truth to a myth.

The prince who married a god.

The human who became a god.

Cora always said they never got the story quite right.


End file.
